This is not the face of anger,
my cheeks flushed with the fever of my dreams
My limbs too stiff, but not to move
tied down by muscles taunt with resolve
Above me the winds shift the frozen white flowers
and they drift like seeds in the breeze

Tiny galaxies rain on me from the bottom of an ink well
no two of them alike in design or flaw
I destroy them with my hot iron breath,
I liquefy them with my warm deadly flesh
A killer to the very end, but how beautiful
draped across my crystal pyre

This is not the sound of failure,
of my own head pounding on the ground to wake me
The naked moonlight burns my skin
in the middle of midnight, in the darkest winter,
and my toes twinkle blue in the diamond snow
Frost puts her fingers to my lips and seals them with a kiss